


Ain't My Bitch

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Sam Winchester, Episode: s02e19 Folsom Prison Blues, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-01
Updated: 2007-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to Sam while Dean's in solitary confinement?  (It's not what you're thinking.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't My Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://missing-spn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://missing-spn.livejournal.com/)**missing_spn**. Missing scene from 2x19, "Folsom Prison Blues".

The minute Dean was escorted from the room, Sam felt the atmosphere change. Something was off, some tension he didn't immediately understand rising in the air, slipping from one inmate to the next. He looked around at the suddenly closed faces, most of them not meeting his gaze; in the next instant, without knowing why, Sam found a wall and put his back to it.

_They're just men,_ he reminded himself. _Just humans. You can handle them._

He remembered the rednecks in Minnesota, and how well he _hadn't_ handled them.

Different time, different place, different circumstances. And anyway, it didn't matter what had happened then. He had to focus on what was happening now.

"All alone, sweetheart? That's a shame."

What was happening now was this: there was a big, ugly guy in his face with a food-spotted beard and a leer Dean's couldn't match on his worst day, and a distinct lack of exits. Sam forced himself not to react to the guy's _severe_ halitosis and tried to sound unconcerned.

"I'm fine."

"Yes, you are." Mud-brown eyes roved over him with undisguised greed. Sam half expected to feel a trail of slime left on his skin afterward. "Don't worry none, pretty boy. I'll take care of you. This time tomorrow, you won't even remember that fella's name."

_If you know what's good for you._ The words hung there, unspoken but clear in tone and expression. Sam looked around; those watching the scene were avid, eyes bright, awaiting confrontation. Those who weren't were busy pretending Sam didn't exist.

"I think I'll pass," Sam said, and brushed the guy's wandering hand off his arm.

"You don't wanna be doing that, boy." Halitosis Guy stepped in close, foul breath washing over Sam's face. "I can make your life a living hell." He took hold of Sam again, ham-handed grip hard on the juncture of shoulder and neck. "You want to think real careful before you say no to me."

Sam debated for a bare instant; in the next, he had the guy's arm twisted up behind his back and had slammed his ugly face against the wall. Sam leaned in with all his weight and felt bones creaking in his grip. Halitosis Guy let out a low whine and went slack, unresisting.

"I said, I'll pass," Sam repeated. "Now get the hell away from me before I catch something."

He let up on the pressure and shoved the guy sideways, putting his back to the wall again. The mood of the room was less complacent now; more faces were turning away, noise level rising as conversations resumed. Halitosis Guy glowered at him from a safe distance, surrounded by cronies. Sam let out a controlled breath and relaxed enough to sit down.

"Damn it, Dean," he muttered under his breath. "Stupidest plan _ever_."

 

* * *

They tried again, of course. Jumped him on the way back from the showers: a suspiciously empty hallway, five guys coming up from behind. Even as he went down, head ringing from whatever they'd hit him with, Sam cursed himself for an idiot. Of course they weren't gonna leave it alone.

"Stay down, bitch," Halitosis Guy growled, and put a filthy booted foot on his neck. "Stay there and take what's comin' to you."

Sam rolled his eyes as hands went for buttons and zippers and Halitosis Guy began to smirk. This guy had obviously seen too many gay prison pornos. Or none at all, which was an even scarier prospect.

"I don't think so," Sam gritted out, and grabbed the guy's ankle. One quick twist and a kick to the groin, and Sam was on his feet and facing them, blood streaming down the back of his neck. They'd sliced his scalp open, but it was already starting to clot. Sam looked for the weapon, discarded on the ground: a wrench, probably filched from the auto shop. Classy. Not clichéd at all.

"Lookee here, boys," Halitosis Guy wheezed. "Pretty boy wants to fight."

"Pretty boy wants to get this over with and get some sleep," Sam said with a _wind-it-up_ gesture. "You wanna cut the chatter? I'm kinda tired. Had a busy day."

Halitosis Guy snarled something unintelligible through his beard and rushed him. Sam dodged easily, hooked a foot behind the guy's knee and put him on the ground. One sharp kick to the head knocked him out, and that was pretty much the ball game.

"And then there were four," Sam said, looking around at them. "Who's next?"

Strangely enough, nobody seemed very combative anymore.

"You watch your back, pretty boy," one of them threatened as they skulked away. "We'll get you again, and when we do your ass is dead meat."

"I'm shaking in my little space boots," Sam retorted, and sighed when the guy looked at him blankly. "Oh, just fuck off already, would you?"

He got back to his cell without any more inmates jumping out of dark corners trying to get into his pants, after backtracking to the showers to clean up all the blood. The cut was hidden by his hair; Dean would never know. Sam resigned himself to a sleepless night in case of concussion and started silently running through exorcism rituals to pass the time.

Ten minutes after lights out, he heard purposeful rustling from the bunk above. He tracked his cellmate's movements in the dark, and was already out of the way when the guy lunged at him.

Sam was getting tired of shoving people into walls.

"Dude. Seriously," he said, putting a knee in the guy's back and pinching hard under his ear, seeking and finding the hypoglossal nerve. "I have had enough of this shit for one day, okay? I don't wanna hurt you, but I am not gonna be your bitch or anyone else's. So just chill the fuck out and I'll let you go, all right?"

"Okay! Okay, Jesus, let go!" came the muffled response, and Sam eased away. He could dimly see the guy back off toward the end of the bunk.

"We done here?" Sam asked.

"... yeah," the guy muttered, crawling back up to his own bunk. Sam huffed out a sigh and folded himself up as best he could to fit on the too-short mattress, and waited patiently for morning.

* * *

 

"You have any trouble last night?" Dean asked casually as they were let into the yard for rec time. Sam shrugged.

"Nope. Guess you made an impression."

"Bet your ass I did." Dean grinned and bumped Sam with his shoulder. "Go get me some more coffee, bitch."

"Get it yourself," Sam replied serenely, and bumped him right back.

END


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